


Selective Memories

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Cooking, Do-Over, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hanging Out, Healing, Identity Issues, Male-Female Friendship, Nightmares, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9613433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Daisy shares her nightmares with Coulson, and they decide to replace bad memories with good ones.  Set in S4.





	1. Chapter 1

He notices she looks more tired than usual this morning.

Two double lattes instead of one. Her concentration punctuated by sighs.

It makes him feel grateful for the moment, in a conflicted way.

That he can know this about her today. That he wants to do something to somehow make it better.

Daisy is always on high alert, for something or other. Even more so now that she's been thrust into a leadership position.

And she's always been a night owl, up late catching up on what's going on in the world. The hacker part of her that will always remain.

Looking at patterns. Trying to get out in front of them.

He wants to ask if everything is alright, but she hasn't been back long. He's waiting to see how things settle.

That last thing he would want is to assume everything should go back to the way it was.

It's when she goes for that third cup. This time, the plain black stuff.

"Pull another all-nighter?" he asks her, lifting to pour, to keep his hands busy and justify his being there at the same time as her.

"What?" she asks, shaken out of thoughts to focus on him, tracking with him now. "Sorry."

"This one's almost out," he says, holding up the pot and what's left inside in his prosthetic hand. "I could make a fresh one."

"Sure," she says with a weary smile and he pours the rest of it down the sink and then finds everything he needs in the cabinet above.

She's watching him, with her arms crossed, one finger looped through her hanging, empty mug.

"I-I didn't sleep well," she finally says, lowering her voice.

He pauses what he's doing for a moment to peer at her, purses his lips at her expression.

"Nightmares?"

She nods silently.

"I know something about those," he tells her, flipping the machine on to brew.

He can only imagine what she's been going through. He feels like it's his fault, but if he tried to apologize to her-

"I can handle it," she adds, and he realizes what his face must look like while he worries over her.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking down at the pot as it fills.

"Sometimes, it seems so real," she pauses and then sets her cup down next to his. "Do you still have-"

"Sometimes," he admits. "About killing Ward."

"What do you do?" she asks him.

He hasn't really thought about it that much. Just remembers how it feels, mostly.

And then it somehow fades. Maybe he hasn't dealt with it at all.

"Lose a lot of sleep," he says, lifting the pot again to pour her a cup.

 

##

The light comes on in his room. It's bright and he squints, but it wasn't like he was sleeping.

He was up in the dark. Thinking. About Daisy.

He turns to pick up the phone from his nightstand and finds a text message illuminated there.

Daisy.

"You awake?"

Some part of him is both elated and hesitant at the same time as he stares at it for a moment before typing back with his thumb.

The idea that she would want to talk to him, that he can help her. The idea of seeing her alone this late at night.

Elation wins out.

"Yes"

He waits to see what comes next, if she'll say anything back, or if it's just enough knowing that he's up, too, when he hears a soft knock at his door.

Getting up off his bed, he looks at the top of his dresser for a moment, at the case there, and realizes he doesn't have enough time to reattach his prosthetic.

Taking a breath, he opens the door to see Daisy there in her sweatshirt and a tank.

"Can I come in?" she asks.

"Sure," he says, moving out of the way so that she can come inside his quarters.

It's still dark inside, and he flips on a bedside lamp rather than the overheads and sits down on the edge of the mattress.

"I just need someone to tell me I'm not crazy," she says, moving back and forth in front of him. "I know he's gone. He's gone."

"He's gone," he says, reaching out his hand, touching her arm to still her.

She stops and then looks down at him, sees his arm where the prosthetic should attach, but doesn't say a word, only moves slowly to sit beside him on the bed.

"And he's not coming back," he assures her.

"He lived on that planet for thousands of years," she goes on, like she refuses to say his name. "And put little pieces of himself inside us."

"Daisy," he says, sliding his fingers along her wrist. "He's gone."

He wishes he could make her all kinds of promises, that he could say he can't hurt her anymore and mean it.

The feeling didn't go away for her like it did for him when he stopped carving.

"He took me to a place, a place that I told Ward about. He knew everything about me."

"Not everything," he tells her, feeling something bitter stirring in his stomach. Hive knew her with Ward's thoughts. "He didn't know you like you are now. How far you've come."

She blinks and stares back at him.

"I'm sorry I intruded." Her fingers touch the top of his arm lightly, and he doesn't know if she wants to leave or stay.

"You didn't."


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up in the morning and Daisy is gone.

Which doesn't surprise him. She gets up earlier than he does and they stayed up very late talking.

Plus it probably wouldn't do to see her leaving his quarters in the morning when people are up and about.

He didn't sleep many hours, but he slept like a rock. Still can remember the feeling of being curled around her back, of her lifting her arm to take his hand and draw it around her.

Falling asleep with the smell of her shampoo near his face.

The way she tucked his other arm underneath her head and ran her fingers across it like it was whole.

He's always wanted to be there for her. To help her in any way he could.

When she left for those six months, it was hard to focus on other things. He managed, but it wasn't easy.

Mainly, he followed in her footsteps, learned from her. Watched what she watched.

Now that she's back, he's not certain what they are to each other. If there are still rules about that.

Besides the SHIELD ones, obviously.

It occurs to him, the possibility at least.

That it's more than the simple fact that he loves her.

It's that he's been in love with her all along.

  
##

  
The sun is lower in the sky, the sunset colors mixing up with the smog hovering over the city.

She shuts the door of the SUV and walks over the dry leaves and then looks around at the trees like she's getting her bearings.

"Here," she tells him, stopping in front of one of them, and running her fingers over the bark.

He notices her fingers are tracing letters carved into its surface.

"Skye," he says out loud.

She turns to look at him, like him saying her old name means something more to her.

"I came here the first time I was in LA," she reminisces, leaning her back against the trunk. "Saved everything up for this conference. Met a really cool Russian hacker, too. We ended up here. I was still trying to figure myself out."

He wants to ask more. Daisy's a private person, he knows. He knows things about Daisy, but there's always more.

That's the thing about Daisy.  He loves the way she's always changing.

It feels like things have shifted in the last few days. Or maybe it had shifted already when she left. When he chased after her.

She had asked him to come up here with her, as they walked down the hanger of the Z1 together, post-mission.

It was the place she had mentioned to him two nights ago. When they'd stayed up late talking.

That hasn't come up again. Like they're both waiting for the other to say something first.

"And then you came back."

"When I came to LA tracking Mike Peterson. I carved it in deeper. I was alone then."

Then Hive. Hive brought her here because she had told Ward about her past. About being messed up.

"Then Hive," she says, moving quickly past the name. "And now...you."

He's heard of this before. He supposes that's possible, to replace bad memories with good ones. He's never tried it himself.

"Well, I'm not a really cool Russian hacker," he smiles, and then looks out over the city.

"You're pretty cool, A.C.," she answers, and then fidgets with a piece of bark she picked off the tree between her fingers.

It's been ages since she called him that. Hearing her call him that...

She must see it on his face, because she's searching it, and he wonders if this is the moment. If this is the right place to tell her.

"Hey, you think after this, we can go to Ruthie's Skillet?"

"Sure," she says, and shakes her head a bit. The change in topics unexpected.

He has some memories he'd like to do over, too.

"This was a good idea," he goes on as the sky turns a deep orange color and the city is outlined in black. "I want to hear all about your Russian hacker."

"Oh, no," she says, waving it off with a hand. "I was so messed up.  She had no idea what she was getting into."

"You've seen me pretty messed up," he points out, reaching for her arm. "And you still think I'm cool."

"Pretty cool," she teases, then turns to watch the sun go down with him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There's been a quiet joy that's been building up in him the last two weeks.

It's made him realize how much freedom he's been denying himself, calling them sacrifices instead.

Getting to know each other in a different way than they had before.

This isn't just trust, it's a kind of knowing that he's not sure he's opened himself up to in the past.

She's seen a side of him that he hasn't shown people, even people that he's known for decades.

Always afraid to let people too close.

Of course she's smart as hell, so she already figured out that so much stuff is around losing his dad.

But they're sitting in the bleachers at a football game, at the high school where his father had taught, where her father had gone on a rampage, and it feels like progress.

He's trying to remember when was the last time he's been this happy, and notices her enthusiastically cheering for the home team. Bravely eating a hot dog from the concession stand.

She stands up to yell at the ref and puts her hand on his shoulder to use him for balance.

No one here recognizes them. The air is a little warm for the fall, so they can't hide underneath layers.

And it just seems _normal_.

Way more normal than the last time they were here.

"I can't believe you're letting them get away with this," she says, flopping down beside him again.

"I can't believe you're so tough on the ref," he jokes. "We're trying not to be noticed."

She looks down and lifts the beer off the ground between her knees.

"Do you think we could go visit my dad?"

"After the game?" he asks. It would be too late. They'd have to stay somewhere overnight, and that wasn't in the plan.

"No," she replies. "I just mean sometime."

He thinks it over for a moment, and of course she's thinking about her father today.

"You're not wanting to get a puppy, are you?"

"What?!" she laughs. " _No_. Who would take care of it when we were out on missions?"

"Mace," he answers quickly, noting her use of 'we' and now very invested in his own teasing. And puppies. "He would be great with a puppy."

She stares at him for a moment, a little puzzled by the turn this has taken.

"Do _you_ want a puppy, Coulson?"

"I have a house here," he blurts out. "It was my parents house, actually. But it's mine now."

The stands erupt in a cheer around them, but they have stayed seated.

"Okay," she says with a curious smile.

 

##

  
"Come back safe."

Her hand is on his shoulder, and they're about to split off into two teams to cover as much of the target area as possible.

She nods, and then takes a step backwards, and directs her team down the corridor ahead.

"Come home," he calls back, and she stops and turns back to him.

He wasn't trying for a sad expression, but it reminds him of another time and place.

She waves her team on ahead and then walks towards him purposefully until they meet in the center of the hallway.

Then she fusses with the front of his flack jacket, and checks his coms, glances over his shoulder, and sneaks in a kiss.

"Wanted to get it right this time," she quietly says, patting the front of his jacket.

"That's very unprofessional, Agent Johnson," he tells her in a low voice, trying to sound totally unprofessional. "We'll discuss this in more detail later."

"I'm counting on it," she smiles, just for them, then looks over his shoulder at his field team.

"Just checking his coms!"

 


	4. Chapter 4

"I've always wanted to be a tourist," he tells her, putting the hat on his head.

"You should get it."

She puts her fingers on the crown of his hat, and presses it further down onto his head, then adjusts the brim for him.

"I'm not really a hat guy," he remarks, looking at himself in the hand mirror at the stall.

"But you could choose to be."

"You could choose to like cilantro," he replies.

"No, I really can't," she insists. "There are scientific studies to support my hatred of cilantro. It's genetic."

But they're in San Juan and there's a lot of cilantro. On everything.

He takes the hat off and then puts it on her head instead. "It looks better on you."

"And you love cilantro," she smiles.  "That's settled, then."

He buys the hat, and she wears it as they keep walking past the stalls and vendors.

They're both a little tan from Daisy hanging out in the sun by the pool for thirty minutes before declaring boredom and suggesting they walk down to the beach instead.

He's mostly pink, really. She's lovely and the sun and the flowy beach dress suit her.

They could've stayed in a more ordinary hotel, he's realizing. Her childhood was about impermanence and not being able to keep nice things. Most of her adult life was lived in homelessness.

And he's not being extravagant. But he wants to be.

She also wants to explore the city, to be around the people. To see all the things she didn't get to the last time she was here.

They come across some street performers playing music to a group of tourists, and Daisy stops them and then takes his hand to lead him through the crowd.

"When is the last time you danced?" she asks him, turning around to face him. "For fun?"

It really has been awhile. He used to love to dance. The record player in his office was a reminder of it.

He lets her guide him to where others are dancing and she lets him lead, and follows his movements to the rhythm of the music.

"Don't overthink it," he tells her, chuckling when she steps on his foot with her sandal. "It's about the heart, letting go."

She closes her eyes and then moves closer to his body, like she's melting into him and his hand slips down to her waist.

It doesn't take them long to find the rhythm together.

  
##

  
"Then you add the mayonnaise," he tells her, or rather shows her, moving his hands over hers as she slides the knife against the bread.

He can't help himself, and the smell of her shampoo on her wet hair, the softness of her like this. He presses himself up against her from behind.

She turns over a shoulder to try to look at him, and he finds her mouth instead, then moves his lips down to her shoulder, sliding the robe out of the way.

Then she moans and he lifts the edge of her short robe, gets his hands against the bare skin on the back of her thighs.

"Phil..."

They stop when the puppy barks, practically underneath their feet.

Daisy takes a piece of the cheese off the counter and feeds it.

They still haven't decided on a name.

Only that they came back from vacation, and suddenly the puppy likes people food. _Mace_.

"I finally get the secret to your grilled cheese, and it's just mayonnaise," she laughs, twisting around in his arms and then wrapping her fingers around the nape of his neck.

"Mayonnaise and _love_ ," he adds. 

Smiling, he ducks his head to kiss her again and she stands up on her toes to bring them closer together.

"I'm supposed to be helping you cook dinner," she tells him, as she wraps her arms around his neck.

"This is making me a better cook, I promise."

She kisses him quickly, and starts to talk about the draft amendment to the Sokovia Accords, and eats a piece of cheese off the plate on the counter.

While he cooks.

And Daisy is what's in front of him, just like the future.

 


End file.
